


Choose Wisely

by unlockthelore



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-09-28 11:17:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 11,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17181944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unlockthelore/pseuds/unlockthelore
Summary: Everyone has a dream. However, dreams come at a price. Be careful what you wish for and choose wisely.A separate fic featuring characters from theFamily Is Who You Chooseuniverse. Prompts from Tumblr are posted up here giving insight to character backgrounds and relationships that aren't covered in the main fic.CH 19:Sombra has a way of showing affection and the kids get in on it.





	1. Be Careful What You Ask For (Shimada Family)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Family Is Who You Choose](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16610270) by [unlockthelore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unlockthelore/pseuds/unlockthelore). 



Tsubaki grew up on stories of Shimada Genji.

The details varied depending on who she asked and at times, it was like pulling teeth no matter who she turned to. Even the mention of her father stopped the elders in mid-sentence. Their piercing gazes boring holes into her head as she slowly sat up, looking at her cousins then sneaking a peek at her uncle. In front of the elders,  her uncle Hanzo didn’t smile or laugh and sometimes he was so still that she could mistake him for a statue. When he looked at her though, the faintest of smiles showed and he mouthed ‘later’ before continuing to speak as if she hadn’t interrupted.

Behind her back, she’d hear them whisper of her uncle’s leniency. Punishments. Speaking out of turn. It made her skin crawl but then her uncle would come and whisked her away with her cousins, and the elders were put out of mind.

Shimada Castle was beautiful compared to the cramped apartment she’d lived in with her mother. Having her own room was nice, although she could do without the combat training and the grueling lessons. Spending time with her cousins was fun and her uncle often sat by while doing his work, occasionally stopping to watch them as they knelt by the koi pond or tried to climb the trees. Sometimes Tsubaki’s mother would join him, but never for too long, and they always sat at a distance. Never laughing like Shingen and Hayao did with her, and when they talked, it was often her mother talking to her uncle.

Her voice gradually getting louder until she was close to shouting. Cheeks tinted red, and eyes blown wide when three sets of inquisitive dark eyes settled on her. Uncle Hanzo waving his hand, Tsubaki’s cousins turning away and continuing to play while she followed along, stealing glances over her shoulder as her mother rose in a huff and stormed away.

She wondered if her father would have joined her uncle too. Would they have sat closer to one another? Would her uncle have talked to him? What would they say? Would they argue too?

The questions haunted her.

Her uncle Hanzo grew up with her father and knew the most about him. He told her stories that made her gape or laugh or shake her head at her father’s silliness, and she loved them. But sometimes her uncle’s eyes would mist over and he’d look into the distance like he was waiting for someone to appear. The elders would scold her for bothering her uncle with “trivial” questions, urge her to continue her training and stay out of his way.

But Shingen told her that her uncle appreciated her questions. It kept her father’s memory alive being able to share his stories and slowly yet surely it sunk in.

When her mother showed her photos of her father, her voice was shaky and thick with tears. More than once, Tsubaki peeked from her room to see her mother with head in hands, barely-kept sobs muffled behind them. Tsubaki never mentioned it during the daytime, she figured her mother was only comfortable crying when she thought Tsubaki was sleeping.  

In front of the elders, her mother was almost as statuesque as her uncle. Keeping her head held high even when they sneered behind her back or whispered in her vicinity. Never once did she let them see her cry, and her smile was always warm and inviting to Tsubaki and her cousins.

So why did she stop smiling when her uncle entered the room?

Why did she avoid going to the West Wing, forbidding them from even thinking of playing there?

Tsubaki thought to ask but was sorely reminded of her mother’s crying and thought better of it. Agreeing to her demands to see her mother’s smile and soft sigh of relief, but plotting in private when no one else was around to stop her.

The room in the West Wing right beside Uncle Hanzo’s that no one was allowed to enter. Not even the Elders. One evening, climbing up on the balcony, Tsubaki peeked inside. The room was well taken care of and looked amazing. Video games, clothes strewn about, posters of cartoons she knew and video games and mangas, a messy bed with a thin layer of dust as if no one had laid in it for awhile. She wondered who slept there, and came back night after night to peek inside and garner a little more of the owner’s identity.

It was until her Uncle Hanzo caught her, waiting for her on the balcony in seiza and silent that she finally asked.

“Uncle Hanzo?”

“Hm.”

“Where is my father?”

The misty look returned to her uncle’s eyes, his jaw going slack and eyes fluttering shut. He breathed in deep then exhaled through his nose, a white puff of air like a dragon’s breath coloring the air then dissipating just as quickly. When he opened his eyes, he looked at her and she scrunched her nose, trembling from the cold and wringing her hands together to keep from reaching out to him for comfort.

“You have his thinking face,” Uncle Hanzo sighed, the corner of his lips twitching upwards. “And your hands, he used to do that too..”

“Used to?”

Uncle Hanzo hummed but said nothing else. Tsubaki wasn’t sure if she wanted to press on, mouth clamping shut and gaze falling to her hands splayed on her lap. She felt guilty coming here day after day. Whoever was in this room must’ve meant the world to her uncle. Intruding on that was rude and wrong. Sneaking a glance at her uncle, Tsubaki struggled to find the words to break the silence.

Her uncle patted the top of her head, and she glanced up at him with wide eyes, admiring how the blues of his haori matched the night sky. It hadn’t occurred to her that it’d gotten dark and a chill ran down her spine as a sharp gust of wind blew past them. She rubbed her forearms, teeth chattering. Going inside would be the best option now or else her mother would worry.

A soft heavy-weight was draped on her shoulders and she blinked owlishly, looking down at her uncle’s haori practically dwarfing her smaller frame. A light click from behind had her whirling around to see her uncle pushing open the balcony door and stepping inside the room, turning back with a hand extended to her.

“It is cold outside, little one,” he said, lifting her up as she came closer and setting her down on the floor. “And this place is as much of yours as it is mine.”

Tsubaki stared up at her uncle in awe as he slid the balcony door shut and locked it, crossing the room with the grace of someone who’d navigated it time and time again, flicking on the light as he stood by the door. Covering her eyes, Tsubaki squinted against the artificial light then slowly lowered them as the scene came into view. Turning her head this way and that, she marveled at the posters and pictures, the sheer mess of it all.

“This room looks like it was owned by a pig.”

Her uncle laughed, “Astute observation, little one, but no pig lived here.”

Tsubaki wrinkled her nose at the poorly made bed and gave the blankets a light tap with the tip of her finger before drawing away, her heel caught on a pair of jeans that were far too bright for their own good.

“Are you sure about that uncle?” She asked, kicking them away into another pile and hopping over a box left in the middle of the floor, peering at it over her shoulder. “It looks like no one’s lived here in forever.”

Her heart dropped when her uncle’s smile thinned out into a firm line. He glanced around the room as if surveying it but this time it felt different. She’d seen him survey rooms before entering it. Looking for the entrances and exits, different points of interest, anything that stuck out that could be helpful should an escape be needed or a battle be fought. The same lessons she and her cousins were taught. But her uncle wasn’t looking at the room in that way. His gaze lingered on the walls, the clothes on the floor, the television, the games hooked up to it, and the bed.

For a moment his gaze lingered on the bed as he drew a deep breath, rising to his full height and then exhaling. Tsubaki released the breath she’d been holding when the ghost of a smile returned to his face and he batted his hand, beckoning her towards him.

Once at his side, he knelt down and laid his hands on her shoulders.

“You can come here anytime you like,” he said.

“Anytime?”

He nodded and she looked around.

“But what about the person who lived here before?”

Her uncle’s eyes widened and she regretted asking but the words just came out. Several emotions flashed across her uncle’s face too fast for her to catch but there was one that she knew well.

Sadness.

Her uncle squeezed her shoulder lightly then relaxed his grip, smoothing out the bunched fabric of the haori then holding her face in his hands. He looked down at the floor for a spell and Tsubaki hesitated before laying her hand on top of his head, fingers sliding through the black strands of hair to the grey “wings” at his temples.

“Uncle?”

He lifted his head and Tsubaki tried to give him a smile that was reassuring. This wasn’t like her Uncle Hanzo at all. He was always smiling, always happy and content. Not misty-eyed and sullen, withdrawn into himself, as if he was on the verge of crying but couldn’t let it out. Realization dawned upon Tsubaki as she removed her hand, covering her face with both palms.

In the small crack between her hands, she said, “I won’t look.”

When her uncle didn’t respond, she took that as an okay to continue. “I won’t listen either,” she assured, keeping her eyes shut as she moved to cover her ears as best as she could without shrugging off his hands.

With muffled hearing and eyes closed, maybe her uncle wouldn’t be afraid. She wondered what her father would have done. Would he have hugged her uncle? Maybe told him a joke to cheer him up? Or take him to the ramen shop that her uncle took them to make him smile. The longer she waited for her uncle to cheer up, the more her own chest felt tight and heavy.

What would her father do to make her mother smile?

Would he charm her like he did when they first met?

Would he make her laugh and dance with her for hours?

Would he be proud of Tsubaki for leaving her alone to cry?

Slowly her hands fell away from her ears and she sniffled, opening her eyes, fresh tears clinging to her eyelashes. Her uncle was looking at her as she choked on a sob, biting her lower lip to try and stifle it.

“This room,” her uncle began, his voice grim and gravelly. “It belonged to your father.”

Tsubaki’s eyes widened and her heart skipped a beat, hands trembling as she looked around. Her father slept here. This was his room. This place that didn’t look lived in for years. A lump in her throat made it harder to swallow but when she did, her tongue felt thick and her face felt hot.  Uncle wrapped his arms around her, guiding her so that her head laid on his shoulder. She bit the inside of her cheek, eyes squeezing shut and tucking closer to him. His fingers combed through her hair as he cradled her close.

“Your father will not be coming back, Tsubaki.”

“Why?”

She shuddered, breathing in raggedly.

“Did I do something bad?”

He left the same night she was born. The elders said so. Her mother said so. Was he disappointed in her? Did he hate her?

“You did nothing wrong.”

“Is it because I’m not a boy?”

“No,” her uncle insisted, his voice tight and she nestled deeper into his embrace. “No, you are perfect just as you are.”

Tsubaki gritted her teeth and struggled to break free of her uncle’s hold, stumbling backward. “Then why?!”

She panted, her chest heaving as she wiped furiously at her eyes. “Why isn’t he here? Where did he go?! Why didn’t he stay!? Why…” Her uncle stared at her, and she felt her anger rising but also ebbing away almost as if her strength was being zapped from her. She wiped her eyes again, jerking her hand down to rest at her side.

“Why didn’t he want me?”

Her uncle was quiet for a long time and every second that ticked past only served to cement her fears. Not even her uncle knew the depths of her father’s mind and she might never know why he was gone. Bowing her head, Tsubaki breathed in deep and tried to steady her shaking fists.

“Your father was not given the chance to know you, Tsubaki.”

Lifting her head, she blinked away the tears and watched as her uncle rose to his full height, his eyes shut.

“What do you mean?”

Turning on his heel, her uncle slid open the door and lingered in the entryway with his head bowed. He gripped the wooden frame so hard that it splintered beneath his hand.

“Uncle?”

He turned to face her and the stony expression he wore as he took a step back into the hallway was unlike any she’d ever seen her uncle wear.

“Your father was…”

Her blood thrummed in her ears.

“Your father was murdered  the night you were born.”

“What?”

Her uncle continued as if he hadn’t heard her,  “And his murderer…” he looked askance, shutting his eyes. “Was me.”

Red.

Tsubaki was certain that everything in her sight was dyed in red. Her father. The smiling man from the photos, the one who’d grown at her uncle’s side, who’d been his best friend, his confidant. Dead. By her uncle’s hand. The night she was born. Her father didn’t even know her.

“Why?”

Her chest felt hollow, skin crawling and hand shaking as she grabbed fistfuls of her trousers, unsure whether to look at her uncle or back away from him. In the end, she did both.

“I ask myself that question often.”

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Tsubaki, you…”

His shoulders shook as he laughed. Not the happy and warm laughter she’d grown accustomed to. No, this was hollow and cold.

“You truly are Genji’s daughter,” he said, her stomach turning at the sheer admiration in his words. “And if he had the chance, he would have loved you.”

Tsubaki grimaced. “But you killed him.”

Her hand sliced through the air between them as she took a step forward, the red outlining her vision deepening and spurring her to press on.

“How could you do that!?”

  
Her father.

Genji.

Dead.

_Dead._

“He was your brother!” She yelled at the top of her lungs, trembling with barely-kept rage, oblivious to the red hue creeping up her arms and down her legs.

Her uncle’s gaze was nothing short of nonchalant. Worn, tired, as if he’d had this conversation more than once and was completed unfazed.

“I know you are upset with me,” he said evenly, raising one hand when she opened her mouth to retaliate. “And I will take every bit of anger you have.”

Did Shingen know?

Did Hayao know?

Did her mother know?

Blood rushing through her ears, anger deeply set in the hollowness in her chest, wanting nothing more than to rip into the man in front of her. The image of her uncle Hanzo, smiling and laughing, fractured and fell away in place of this indifferent monster. She grabbed hold of the haori draped over her shoulders and threw it at his feet, stepping back and readying into a fighting stance.

He glanced down at the garment then up at her, keeping her gaze as he knelt to pick it up, slipping it on as he spoke.

“But…” He sighed, brushing off dust from his shoulder. “Know this.”

Her eyes widened as he turned away.

“No matter what, I will love you always.”

Her eyebrows furrowed and she stomped forward, grabbing hold of the door and slamming it shut. Left in her father’s room by herself, she sank to her knees and buried her face in her hands. A few heaving breaths and muffled whimpering punctuated a loud cry that echoed throughout the halls.


	2. Trash to Treasure (Roadrat and the Junkbrats)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know how the old saying goes.

Roadhog wasn’t keen on keeping either Claire, Rachie or Wrench. Kids meant liabilities. More mouths to feed. Witnesses to whatever mischief he and Junkrat got up to. Only problem is they hadn’t been getting into much lately with the tykes trailing after them.

Wrench developing a taste for ash and smoke, wanting to practice with Junkrat’s bombs. It was the first time Roadhog ever saw Jamison refuse to light a fuse. Not wanting the kid to lose both his prosthetic arms if things went tits up.

Then there were Rachie and Claire. The latter more inquisitive than the former. But the former more active than the latter. While Claire asked the questions and kept the conversation fresh and rolling, Rachie was busy doing things. Helping out with chores, keeping Claire from tripping over her tongue, correcting her with soft grunts and side-eyes.

Chores went much faster with all the raggamuffins around. They picked up after themselves, kept their things close, didn’t ask for much — maybe it was because they never had much and didn’t know what to ask. Thoughts like that weighed heavy on Roadhog‘s mind.

“Hey Roadie,” Junkrat interrupted, elbowing him in the side. “Look sharp, we keepin’ the brats are not?”

Glancing back at the trio perched on top of trash cans, waiting and entertaining themselves with the disarmed remote detonators Junkrat had passed onto them, Roadhog huffed.

“Hey,” he grumbled, three sets of eyes focusing on him as he jerked his head forward. “Let’s go.”

Trudging forward, Junkrat’s laughter following him as he went.

“You gettin’ soft on me now, Roadie?”

Roadhog huffed, sneaking a peek over his shoulder to make sure they were still close.

“..Shut up.”


	3. Good (Symmpharah)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You just want to give your children what you never had.

To say that Satya wanted this to go well would have been an understatement. With all of her planning and careful allocation of both resources and time, there was something missing. She worried her chin and tapped her fingers against the hardwood table in a steady rhythm, gaze flitting around the room decked in silvers and blues and yellows, a beautiful evergreen tree painstakingly decorated with ornaments and tinsel, presents beneath wrapped to perfection and yet something was missing.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Fareeha cooed, arms loosely coiling around Satya’s waist, chin tucked against her shoulder.

Breathing in deep, Satya allowed herself to relax and rested her cheek against Fareeha’s head, melting into her wife’s hold with the slightest of smiles.

“I want this to be perfect,” she sighed, rubbing the space between her eyes.

Fareeha pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “Habibti, you’ve checked and double-checked and  _triple-checked_ this since Halloween, and do you remember what happened on Halloween?”

Satya groaned, shooting Fareeha a narrow-eyed glance. “I thought we agreed to never speak of that again.”

“Not speaking of it, only referring to it to ease your nerves,” Fareeha replied cooly, her smile soft and inviting, easing Satya’s feigned anger. 

They stood in silence for a moment, basking in one another’s presence, Satya’s hand braced against Fareeha’s forearm as she gave it a squeeze. Fareeha’s eyes fluttered open, cracked into slits as she tilted her head to better look at Satya’s face. Heart wrenching at the glassy-eyed look and the slight tremor of her lip.

“Habibti,” Fareeha whispered, straightening up and nuzzling against Satya’s temple. “What is this all about?”

Satya’s voice, heartbreakingly small and wavering, nearly shattered Fareeha’s heart.

“I just want to see them smile.”

Cradling her wife close, Fareeha nodded and rocked them from side to side at Satya’s behest, minutely glancing up at the clock and hoping that their guest of honor would hold off for a moment longer.

* * *

The time rolled around, Satya and Fareeha sitting on the couch, talking to one another quietly until the sound of footsteps punctuated the lull in conversation. Both holding their breaths, they sat up and watched two children descended the steps. One a little more awake than the other but both with eyes blown wide upon hitting the landing step, and taking in the scene before them.

Fareeha gave Satya’s hand a light squeeze and the two stood up, the former saying, “Surprise!” while the latter worried her lower lip.

All was quiet for a beat before both children burst into motion, racing towards them with wide smiles and bright eyes. Satya startled but Fareeha laughed, giving her a slight smile and a quick kiss to the cheek before they were bombarded with armfuls of laughing children.

“You did good, habibti.”

Satya smiled.

“I suppose I did.”


	4. An Experience (Zenyatta and Monty)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every experience means something.

“Why is it that humans do this every year?” Monty asked, head tilted and eyebrow cocked as he watched the citizens of Gibraltar flitting through the streets beneath the warm glow of lights strung up on the rooftops and across the awnings of buildings.

Zenyatta hummed, brushing off a few snowflakes resting upon the youth’s head. “Why do you insist on coming to watch them?”

If he had an actual human face, he would be smiling as Monty huffed and dug the toe of his boots into the pile of snow at his feet. 

“It is…” Monty paused, holding out his hand, a snowflake falling to rest in his palm unmelting and still. “…Interesting.”

Zenyatta hummed again, though the slight inflection in his voice was out of understanding rather than amusement. The two sat in silence for a moment and Zenyatta ignored the distant thrumming of his communicator, giving it a slight tap to silence it as Monty shifted closer to him, laying his head against what would be Zenyatta’s forearm.

“I like it.”

Chuckling softly, Zenyatta sighed and lifted his arm, draping it around Monty’s shoulders and holding him close.

“As do I.”

* * *

“Master,” Genji greeted, jogging up to meet Zenyatta as he floated up the hangar staircase. “Did you enjoy your– oh.”

Cradled in Zenyatta’s lap, a dark-haired boy laid curled up in a ball with his cheek pressed against Zenyatta’s thigh, arms cradled to his chest and sleeping soundly. The monk laid a hand on the boy’s head and gave a light pat, his voice a measure quieter than usual.

“It was a wonderful experience, my student. Perhaps we can talk about it another time.”

Nodding resolutely, Genji stepped aside and kept his gaze low as Zenyatta floated past. If he heard the soft cooing and humming of a song, he didn’t say.


	5. Oh No (Sombra and Talon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The worst has happened.

Sombra was used to the usual Talon meetings. Delegation of tasks, reports of achievements and failures, the occasional stare down and power move from Akande Ogundimu — but not this eerie silence. She sat in her swivel chair, imported from Berlin and very comfortable, shooting Widowmaker a curious glance when the sniper strolled in, two mugs in hand.

Reaper was already present and if Sombra didn’t know any better, he appeared to be nursing a headache. Even Moira looked mildly offput by the lack of progression in the meeting, one of her rabbits being petted absentmindedly as they waited.

“So,” Sombra piped up, taking one of the mugs from Widowmaker with a quick thanks. “Anyone want to tell what this is all about?”

No one replied, not even Akande who sat the table head with his face pressed against the palm of his hand.

Yep, something was definitely wrong.

“Zhuri,” Akande finally said, lifting his head, lips set in a grim line.

Sombra’s heart skipped a beat at the hallowness in his eyes. The look of a man at the end of his ropes, grasping for answers but having none. She swallowed, her mind filling in the pause though she bid herself to remain casual and calm in appearance.

Zhuri Ogundimu.

Akande’s only daughter, first born and heir to his empire.

She was as resilient as father, surely nothing bad could have happened to her? Sending a quick prayer to the heavens, Sombra hoped not. She’d watched Zhuri grow up. Oversaw much of her training and shared a few laughs at most of Talon’s expense. Widow’s hand laid over hers beneath the table and stilled the trembling Sombra hadn’t even noticed began. Glancing over, the faintest of smiles showed on the normally stoic woman’s face, gone just as quickly as it appeared.

“What happened to Zhuri, Akande?” Moira demanded. “If this is a matter of urgency, you are wasting ti—“

“Seems our little Zhuri went out in a date last night,” Reaper chimed in, chuckling darkly. “And daddykins is upset.”

“Not another word, Gabriel,” Akande all but growled, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Moira cocked a brow, looking between them. “You called me away from my research because your daughter went on a date?” Each word enunciated carefully, her long fingers stilling in the rabbit’s fur. “Are you out of your mind?”

Sombra didn’t realize her jaw was hanging until Widow reached over and gently shut it, miming for her to take a sip of her drink. Doing so, Sombra hummed appreciatively. Coffee with a bit of liquor, so it was one of  _those_ meetings.

“It isn’t that she went on a date (in the background, Reaper’s soft hum of ‘Oh isn’t it?’ is slightly drowned out though Akande gives him a scathing glare), it is  _who_  she went with.”

Moira sighed, rolling her eyes to the ceiling and Sombra took another sip, swiveling in her chair so that she could better see the scientist’s irrate expression.

“It’s 2087, Akande. Don’t tell me someone as progressive as you has an issue with something as trivial as that.”

Sombra choked on her drink, covering her mouth as she tried to stifle as a laugh. Setting her mug down, she coughed, shoulders slightly trembling but immediately straightened up with an innocent expression when Akande’s glare turned on her.

From behind, Widowmaker sighed and said, “Smooth.” Before taking a long sip of her drink.

“As I was  _saying_ ,” Akande grumbled, frowning at Moira. “It isn’t like that. Who she went out with is dangerous.”

“…More dangerous than Talon?” Sombra asked, giving them a sweeping glance before shrugging. “I think she could be doing better.”

Reaper shook his head and sank in his chair with a sigh.

“She went out with a Shimada.”


	6. Like Dad (McHanzo)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo lost his headscarf and McCree shows him something precious.

Hanzo rummaged through his drawers, pulling out each one before rifling through the contents and grumbling with growing annoyance. Sliding them shut, he ran his fingers along the shorn sides of his hair and sighed.

“McCree, have you seen my hair scarf?!”

A few clanging noises and jingling spurs punctuated the arrival of one Jesse McCree in the doorway, peering at the state of disarray their room was in. Amusement glimmered in his eyes but was quickly snuffed out when he noticed the furrow of Hanzo’s brow and the deep set scowl on his face.

“Nah, where’s the last place you put it?” 

He slipped through the open doorway, coming to Hanzo’s side and laying a hand on his shoulder as the archer looked askance with a heavy sigh. 

“Over here, right beneath..”

McCree squeezed Hanzo’s shoulder lightly, stilting the sentence and earning him a confused glance. Lapsing into silence, Hanzo could hear a soft ‘thump’ and ‘woosh’ noise. Meeting McCree’s gaze with a slight nod and a raised brow, a silent ‘did you hear that’ exchanged between them, before the cowboy left his side and glanced into the hallway, creeping down and out of sight.

Hanzo waited for a second and then two, McCree coming back into view but motioning with his arm, his finger sliding to his lips.

“C’mere,” he whispered. “But be quiet.”

Deciding that he might as well follow suit, Hanzo accompanied McCree down the hall towards another open doorway that led to their sons’ bathroom. McCree stood by the door, his back pressed to the wall and held out his arm. Raising one finger then two, McCree pointed towards the door and both men leaned over to see.

Hanzo’s heart practically melted.

Little Hayao stood on top of a step stool in front of the mirror, Hanzo’s hair scarf used to tie his hair back in a messy pony-tail. One of his eyes squinted shut, tongue poking from between his lips while his arms were up, mimicking the motion of notching an arrow and releasing it. 

He mimicked the ‘thump’ and ‘thwack’ of arrows landing and McCree glanced towards Hanzo whose features softened incredibly and smile was nothing short of adoring. 

Once satisfied with his firing, Hayao turned away from the mirror and halted in place seeing McCree and Hanzo standing there. Immediately he drew back, fingers toying with each other before he smiled nervously. 

“Hi…”

While he climbed down from the step stool, Hanzo breezed into the room and knelt down in front of him, fixing the scarf then holding his son’s face in his hands.

“You know, it suits you.”

 


	7. Practice (McHanzo)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse's simple question leads to Hanzo's simple answer.

“How’d you do it?” 

Hanzo glanced up from his data pad, reminding himself not to shift too much or else he’d wake the sleeping children curled up on his lap. The wonder on McCree’s face was remarkably innocent – or at least as innocent as a man of his caliber could get. 

“What do you mean?”

McCree glanced down and Hanzo followed his line of sight. Two children, one hugging the other close, both nestled on his lap and using his body as a pillow. He remembered the exact moment both boys came into the room, and when they sat on the couch, crawled onto his lap, took their places and fell asleep – but he didn’t have the heart to send them back to their own room. Especially when he couldn’t find rest himself. 

Shingen’s head lolled back, resting against the couch back while Hayao’s was pillowed against his brother’s chest. They were both fast asleep, a lock of Shingen’s hair caught between his lips while Hayao had an unflattering trail of drool making its way down his chin. Hanzo rolled his eyes, wiping away the drool and freeing the hair from his son’s mouth.

“You’re a natural at this, Han,” McCree whispered, Hanzo stiffening at the awe-filled words. “I don’t get it.”

“Practice, Mc– Jesse.”

“Oh, so I’m Jesse now?” The cowboy asked, sounding all types of smug.

Hanzo gave him a steely look, enjoying the way his smile broadened and eyebrows raised as if issuing a silent challenge. Deciding to meet him half way, Hanzo looked down at his data pad although he wasn’t interested in the words he’d written thus far for his report at all.

“Of course, it’ll be confusing referring to you as ‘McCree’ once we all have the same family name.”

Hearing Jesse’s sputtering told him that his practice paid off.


	8. Never Alone (McHanzo)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree remembers something terrible, someone else reminds him that he should cherish what he's got. 
> 
> Ringing in the New Year \o/.

The muffled noise of partygoers cheering and chattering about the coming year faded the more McCree put distance between him and the rec room. Forgoing a bottle in hand, he chewed on the cigarillo between his teeth while making his way through the empty hallways. His spurs’ jingling and heel tapping, uncharacteristic of someone used to masking their presence, only served to make him feel less alone than what he did. Glancing over his shoulder at the fading light pouring from the rec room, he reasoned that he could be there.

A part of the celebrations just like everyone would  _want_ him to be. But after so many years of being by himself, having nothing to look forward to in the new year except for the hopes of staying above ground for a little while longer – it was hard to be surrounded by people. Even if they were people that he knew. They’d all grown so much in their time apart but he still felt…

Like an outsider.

Scratching his jaw, he shifted the cigarillo to the side of his mouth and sighed. The itch to light it and fill his lungs with nicotine burned at the back of his mind but there were kids on base. 

_And that’s why you’re going up here so you don’t mess them up._

He chuckled half-heartedly at the thought, letting his feet guide him on the familiar path. It felt different walking it alone. In the past few months, he’d gotten accustomed to having someone at his side or waiting overhead. Golden hair scarf billowing in the wind, legs dangling over the side of the railing, eyes firmly locked onto the horizon.

Some days the honey-gold sunrays would wash over the newcomer, outlining sharp cheekbones, mesmerizing dark brown eyes and McCree would catch himself staring until the newcomer tilted his head to the side – not reprimanding but alerting. And with a bark of laughter, McCree would drop down next to him and they’d slip into an easy banter.

Just him and Hanzo Shimada.

But he recognized that New Year was a time for family, and Hanzo had two little ones along with Genji and his youngin’. And though they had their ups and downs, the growing Shimada clan was working through it. Spending holidays together was just another trial.

And no matter how lonely McCree felt, he couldn’t ask Hanzo to drop all that just to placate him.

It didn’t ease the slight drop in his stomach as he was embraced by the cool night air and the lack of the archer’s presence. McCree sighs and eases the door shut behind him, thumbs tucked into the loops of his belt as he goes to plop himself down at the edge. Fingers rubbing circles around the joint of his bad knee and eyes though locked on the horizon, quietly remembering the days long past. 

The Recall was off to a rocky start but it was slowly piecing itself together. Missions were becoming easier with teams learning how each other worked, old grudges being laid to rest or worked upon, and new revelations bringing old friends and enemies together. All in all, it should’ve been something to celebrate but McCree just couldn’t.

 

 

> _“Get your ass down here, McCree,” he could recall Gabriel Reyes growling over the comm he’d mistakenly kept on during one New Year celebration.  
>  _
> 
> _Begrudgingly, the younger McCree trudged down the steps and saw his commander standing in the hallway, bathed in light and with an uncharacteristically festive hat strapped onto his beanie. Along with very wide and glittery glasses, no doubt courtesy of a younger Fareeha._

The thought made McCree laugh then and it made him laugh now, except now the laughter tapered off into a choked sob. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his gloved hand over them, shoulders trembling as the laughter and broken sobs mixed together. 

It’d been two years.

Two years since the Recall happened, two years since he’d had some semblance of family, and he was still this  _mess_  of a man. Unable to fully reconcile with the past.

“Uncle Jesse?” A young voice tentatively called out to him.

Sitting upright, the cool breeze drying the tears streaking into his beard, McCree glanced over his shoulder and let out the breath he’d been holding. His hand immediately went for Peacekeeper but stalled at the sight of a young boy emerging from the doorway. Clad in a black hoodie with gold geometric patterns around the collar, wrists and hem, blue jeans and black boots was Shingen Shimada. Not quite the Shimada he’d been hoping for but closely related at the least.

“Hey there, kiddo,” McCree mumbled, barely catching the sound of Shingen’s boots as he approached, taking up the spot on his left. “Sneakin’ up on me isn't wise, y'know?”

“Ninja,” said Shingen with a casual shrug, leaning back on his hands.

Lapsing into a comfortable silence, McCree eventually found it less of a chore to sit up straight and keep his head held high. If Shingen noticed the moisture on his face or the shadows beneath his eyes, he didn't say anything.

“Shouldn’ you be down with your family?”

“You say it like they aren’t yours too,” Shingen rests his cheek against his shoulder, looking up at McCree with a raised brow. "It's almost time, y'know."

"I'm not much of a festive person, Shi," McCree sighed, tipping his hat over his eyes.

“I figured, neither am I.”

Well, that was news to McCree. Flicking up his hat, he looked towards Shingen whose gaze was fixated on the rocky cliffside. The look on his face was nothing short of disinterest and discomfort, a complete change from the boy who'd listened to his little brother jabber on and on about the holiday and helped with putting up decorations. On one of their nightly talks, Hanzo seemed  _convinced_ that Shingen would be excited to partake in New Years with Overwatch but McCree couldn't help but think otherwise.

“I hate stuff like this but Hayao likes it and Dad likes when we’re happy, so I make an exception,” he explains, shrugging with a smile that seemed almost apologetic.

"Pretty grown up of you."

"I never was a kid."

McCree clenches his jaw and forces himself to look away. This time, the silence that envelops them is thick and suffocating. He runs a hand through his hair and pushes his hat from the top of his head, holding it in his hand then glancing towards the pensive stone-faced child beside him. Plopping his hat on top of Shingen's head, he takes the opportunity to stand up and brush the invisible dust from his clothes. From beneath the wide brim of McCree's hat, Shingen peeked out with pinched lips and narrowed eyes.

Huffing lightly, McCree offered his hand to which Shingen took and helped himself up.

"Let's head back, kid."

Turning on his heel with serape blowing in the wind behind him, McCree walked at a pace slower than he normally would, waiting for the tell-tale sign of following by the reappearance of his hat bobbing up and down on the head of someone much smaller than him. Sparing a glance and a smile down at Shingen who glanced up at him with a sheepish grin, he slung an arm around the boy's shoulders and squeezed.

"Ever heard of fake it till you make it?"

"A little bit."

"Well, let me teach you something."

* * *

 They returned to the party in one piece just as the countdown began. Hayao and Tsubaki dragging Shingen away with party favors and stories of what happened in his absence. From over his shoulder, Shingen smiled then followed his brother and cousin into the crowded room. Lingering on the outside, McCree nursed a cup of non-alcoholic punch (to Angela's delight) and took a sip.

"You brought him back."

McCree jumped, nearly spilling his drink when he finally noticed Hanzo sidling up beside him.

"Seriously, what's with you Shimada and sneakin' up on a fella?"

"Ni-" Hanzo started.

"I know, I know," McCree interrupted, rolling his eyes. "Ninja."

Hanzo snorted and McCree tried to hide his widening smile behind the rim of his cup.

"And I didn' bring him back, he brought  _me_ back," he clarified after composing himself. "Might be your son but... sometimes he just opens his mouth and I hear _me_."

A part of him that he never wanted to relive again. A part that he thought had been long since buried but still lived in little ways. 

"I know what you mean."

McCree glanced towards Hanzo, followed his line of sight to Shingen surrounded by the other agents and his family, laughing and smiling without a care in the world. over the years, McCree had gotten used to seeing through people's guises. He could spot a real laugh from a fake one and a fake one from a real one. He'd guessed the clan taught Shingen how to hide things from people like him. Glancing towards Hanzo, McCree's heart ached for him and he sighed.

"He asked me to look out for you but I'm guessin' you're looking out for me too," he pointed out, smirking when Hanzo rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

"That is how a relationship works if I am not mistaken."

"Okay smartass."

Giving Hanzo a quick jab to the side, the archer laughs and rubs it, sticking out his tongue briefly then nudging McCree with his elbow. 

"Come, let's enjoy this while we can."

Finishing off the last bit of punch, McCree tossed the cup in the trash and linked his pinky with Hanzo's, letting the archer lead him back into the group.

This time, he didn't feel so alone.


	9. Cold (McHanzo)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why oh why did it have to be him?

McCree hated the cold.

While he was a veritable furnace, and usually kept warm by the thermal padding in his body armor and his serape, he hated the cold.

So how on Earth did he fall in love with a man who loved the cold?

Hanzo thrived in the cold. When it rained, he enjoyed standing outside until he was drenched and freezing, coming inside with a smile that stopped any reprimand McCree might’ve had. But the worst offense was at night.

While Hanzo didn’t wear his prosthetics at night, he insisted on sleeping with the room at sub zero. It was madness. McCree had to bundle up in multiple blankets and quilts while Hanzo slept with his shirt slightly rucked up, hair down, and face slack soft with sleep.

Though it wasn’t all bad. Some mornings, he’d wake up feeling the room’s chill, peeking over his shoulder and the sight would steal his breath away. Hanzo’s cheek pressed against the pillow, looking much younger without a scowl or furrow of the brow, dark hair fanned across the pillow, locks of it obscuring his face, and he was just breathing.

Asleep but breathing.

And beautiful.

The first few morning rays backlighting him as he woke, blinking dazedly up at McCree, the slowest of smiles forming.

“You look cold Jesse,” he’d tease, voice scratchy from disuse.

“…Ain’t nothin’, darlin.”


	10. Dad and Pa (McHanzo)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pleasant surprise awaits.

**Dad and Pa (FIWYC)**

 

The reverberating twang of McCree’s guitar draws Hanzo closer as he worries with the paper held taut between his fingers. Without the impressionable eyes watching them, he allowed himself to lean against the doorway and watch as McCree fiddled with the pegs of his guitar. Testing the strings and mumbling curses when the sound didn’t meet his expectation. After a few trials and a few louder curses, Hanzo makes his presence known by clearing his throat. McCree glancing over his shoulder, a toothpick resting between his teeth, hands stilled on the neck of the instrument.

 

“Well,” a grin breaks out on his face, chasing away the shadows that darken his eyes, Hanzo’s heart skipping a beat at the sight. “Thought you’d be out for the day, Han. Decided to spend quality time with lil’ ol me?”

 

Casting his gaze heavenward, Hanzo sighed heavily with feigned exasperation. A ghost of a smile playing on his lips as he shoved McCree’s legs off the coffee table, settling in next to him on the couch. With the paper in one hand, and his other lying on McCree’s thigh, it wasn’t long before their fingers were laced together and his hand was held tight in McCree’s prosthetic one. Tilting his head back to rest on the couch back, Hanzo offered the paper wordlessly then shifted to lay his head on McCree’s shoulder.

 

Stroking the back of his lover’s knuckle with his thumb, Hanzo waited as McCree looked the page over.

 

“Well, I’ll be… Hayao drew this?”

 

Hanzo nodded with a soft hum. He couldn’t help the pride and joy bubbling in his chest as McCree smiled fondly at the picture.

 

“He made it specifically for you.”

 

“I’m honored, really… I—“ 

 

McCree’s voice hitched and Hanzo squeezed his hand tighter, knowing he saw what was drawn. 

 

“Did he..”

 

Hanzo’s eyes cracked open and he leaned away, trying to gauge McCree’s reaction. Wide-eyed, mouth slightly agape, toothpick dangling precariously from his lips — words dying everytime he tried to speak, Hanzo smiled. The drawing on the page of two men, one with a golden hair ribbon while the other is a man with a brown hat and a red blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Their hands joined together, big smiles on their faces while overhead read “Dad and Pa” respectively.

 

“He thinks I’m his pa..” McCree whispered, a slight waver to his voice that worried Hanzo.

 

“If you do not agree, I can talk to h—“

 

“No!” McCree blurred out and Hanzo’s eyes widened, blinking slowly as the cowboy balked and seemed to remember himself. “I mean..  _ no _ , uh.. I just.. wow.”

 

Sagging into the couch, McCree was unable to look away from the drawing. “I never thought of myself as anybody’s pa,” he muttered.

 

Hanzo sighed, leaning against him . “If it helps, I was not sure how to be a father either… at first..”

 

McCree chuckled and pressed a kiss to the top of Hanzo’s head, nuzzling close. “Well, you’ll just have to help me, huh?”

 

“As much as I can, my love.”


	11. Puppy (McHanzo)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, kids will just be kids.

Jesse knew from his own childhood experiences that taking in a stray was completely normal. His mother pretended not to notice when he brought in stray puppies and kittens, feeding them, and giving them a place to sleep until she “found” them and offered to take them to the local shelter. Sure he was upset but the bit of independence and care for another living creature taught him a lot.

So when the boys started skulking around, sneaking snacks, and bowls of water and blankets, or making noise to cover up the woofing and panting, he pretended not to notice.

What worried him was what Hanzo would think. Hanzo preferred to keep a clean and orderly home although he did have some leniency with their growing family and small amount of space. However, keeping an animal in the house might not fly on his radar. It wasn’t until one afternoon when Shingen and Hayao were off with Genji that Jesse went into their room to change their linen and found Hanzo on the floor, a chestnut brown Akita puppy on his lap, tail wagging and a tongue lolling out its mouth. When Hanzo’s wide eyed, deer in the headlights look stopped him from petting, the puppy turned towards Jesse and bounded towards him, clumsily tumbling at his feet.

Jesse bent down to scoop the puppy up, shifting the linens to his other arm. The pup pressing its paws against his shoulder and lapping at his face as he grinned at Hanzo.

“So, I guess this means we have five kids now?”


	12. Call For Me (Symmpharah)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time she called her Mommy was bittersweet.

The first time Mariam called Fareeha mom was bittersweet. After returning from a mission in Cairo, Fareeha had suffered several wounds along with a concussion to the head. She faintly remembered plummeting to the Earth, being boarded onto the Orca, or waking up in the medbay. Everything wrapped in a pleasant haze as the biotic field 76 carried lulled her to sleep with its hum. The thrumming pain, blood rushing through her ears, heart pounding adrenaline all melting away beneath the yellow flourescent light.

When she awoke to the blinding lights of the medbay, her body felt worn and achey. She shut her eyes for a second and waited for sleep to claim her but her mind wouldn’t agree. Memories floated in. Satya’s turret going down, the Vishkar agents closing in on her position, firing a close shot, narrowly missing her lover who was brilliant enough to build herself a shield.

She didn’t hear the warning of a missile until it was too late.

But where was Satya?

Sitting upright, Fareeha hissed a curse and grunted against the seering a pain. A hand laid upon her shoulder eased her back onto the fluffed pillows supporting her neck, back and head. Cracking open her eyes, her vision was swimming and hazy.

“Satya?” She muttered, trying to reach out by her hand was caught in mid raise.

“I’m here, jaani,” Satya cooed, squeezing Fareeha’s hand, the metal of her prosthetic blessedly cooling her heated skin.

“Sa—“

“Mommy?”

Fareeha’s eyes shot open, and she turned to the side. A little girl with dark brown curly hair pulled back into a messy low ponytail, puffy brown eyes, and dark skin dotted with freckles and discolored around the eyes, nose and chin started back at her.

“Mari..am..”

The last thing Fareeha ever wanted to do was make her daughter cry. And later, Satya would talk to her and try to convince her that it wasn’t her fault. For now though, she edged her hand away from Satya and opened her arm to Mariam. Allowing the little girl to crawl on her bed and hug her close, crying into the hollow of Fareeha’s neck as she shushed and held her.

“It’s okay, habibti, mommy is here. Mommy is here…”


	13. Midnight Snack (Gency)

After a mishap with the teleporter, Junkrat almost blowing off both his hands, and two strike teams returning with several injuries — Angela needed a break.

She’d been up since the early morning and it was beginning to show. Several times, she’d caught herself leaning forward or backward in her chair. Moments of zoning out and stifling yawns becoming frequent and she swore that she said “I’m just resting my eyes” multiple times when Genji came to rouse her.

Eventually, she switched off with Zenyatta and made her way to the mess hall. Stomach growling and mentally tired, food wasn’t the worse thing to fill herself with being she eventually gave into unconsciousness.

It was just her surprise when a familiar face was seated at the table. A curtain of dark hair shielding her face, fists curled up on the table she sat at, and face unreadable was Shimada Tsubaki.

She didn’t say a word or glance up when Angela entered. The medic glancing back at her ever so often as she approached the fridge. Tsubaki’s eerie silence reminding Angela of Genji during his Blackwatch days. Opening the fridge door momentarily hides the girl from Angela’s view, and she gives the fridge’s contents a cursory glance.

There are a few things left but most are leftovers with names on them. And Angela isn’t in the mood to patch someone up should they start a fight over left overs. Though after finding herself on the lowest rack, far in the back behind some of Lena’s blood pudding is a container with her name on it.

She pulls it out and smiles at the green lid, and the post it note with a tiny green cyborg ninja dude.

Of course.

She heats up her food and goes to leave but pauses, turning on her heel and walking back to where Tsubaki is.

It’s late and she can’t imagine what is keeping the girl awake but Angela knows better than to ask.

“Would you mind if I sat here?”

Tsubaki tilts her head to the side then shakes it ‘no’.

Angela sits down, and begins to eat but spies the quick glances Tsubaki gives her. Setting out half of the food Genji made, Tsubaki eats quietly but the small smile she wears is enough for Angela.

——

“Angela, have you seen - oh..”

Genji peeked into the mess hall, walking over to the sink and smiling behind his faceplate at the empty container. But when he ventures to the rec room, he sees the faint outlines in front of the television. Angela sitting with her hand combing through Tsubaki’s hair.

He opens his mouth but says nothing, just leaning against the couch back and watching with them.

Maybe one day he can sit with them too.


	14. Permission (Symmpharah)

Satya wanted to hug Khalid.

Though their relationship was one of mother and son, she didn’t feel entitled to encroach upon his space. He was still young and forming his boundaries and she always stepped carefully in fear of intruding on one that she hadn’t yet encountered. It was as though she was stuck in the range of an army of turrets and one wrong move would leave her incapacitated and useless.

However, her little boy was upset and she wanted to help him. Fareeha insisted upon letting her handle it should Satya not be up to it, but her wife left hours ago for a meeting and Khalid’s mood was steadily souring. He sat curled up in a ball, a book sitting on his lap but by the way he idly thumbed the pages, he wasn’t reading at all.

Satya didn’t hover. Although she did stay nearby, keeping an eye on him every time she passed. Eventually, she gathered herself and slid into the seat next to his, keeping a space between them. Khalid peeked up at her but Satya’s eyes were glued to the holo-display projecting from her prosthetic arm.

“Mom?” He asked, his voice gentle and small.

She glanced at him then ended the display, giving him her full attention.

“..Could I…” he hesitated, glancing away, worrying his lip between his teeth. “I.. I want.. hug.. please?”

Satya’s chest tightened at the warble in his voice. Her boy, her poor boy.

“Of course.”

Slowly, Khalid brought himself to her side and she tucked him close, letting him rest his head against her chest.

——

“Satya, I’m so sorry,” Fareeha apologized, emerging through the door with a heavy sigh. “That took far too l—“

She peered into Satya’s office and found it empty. Turning around, Fareeha checked Mariam’s room and saw the little girl snoozing for her afternoon nap. But Khalid was nowhere in his. It isn’t until Fareeha went to the living room that she found them, Khalid curled up and protected beneath a wide light blue blanket with gold accents, Satya running her fingers through his dreadlocks.

She seemed fixated as she hadn’t looked up to notice Fareeha at all and the former Helix agent smiled, turned away and went to busy herself with something else.

Satya had this handled.


	15. Significance (McHanzo)

Hayao stood stock still with bated breath as Hanzo pulled out a worn plush dragon from the drier. After giving it a look over, he hummed in satisfaction and passed it to Hayao who gave it a squeeze.

“Thank you, dad,” he said, giving Hanzo’s leg a quick hug then breezing past McCree as the latter entered with a laundry bag.

“Hey Han,” McCree said, sitting the bag on top of the washer.

“Jesse,” Hanzo replied, folding a few shirts and setting them aside, his own laundry basket sitting by his feet.

“I never asked before but what’s the deal with the plush?”

Hanzo hummed noncommittally and glanced at McCree, quietly appraising before he spoke.

“It is… sentimental.”

McCree hummed, “Like my hat and Peacekeeper or Stormbow, huh?”

Hanzo nodded, dropping all his freshly folded clothing into the basket, and picking it up in a flourish.

“Or like you to me,” he said before leaving.

McCree gasped, half-choked and sputtered then whirled around just as Hanzo turned the corner.

 

 


	16. Brothers (Shimada Brothers)

“It’s weird isn’t it?” Genji asked, accepting the steaming cup of tea from Hanzo. “How far we have come.”

Hanzo cupped his hands around his own cup and let the warmth seep into his palms. He wasn’t sure what Genji meant but the implications behind it were clear. The two of them sitting in Bastion’s garden, side by side, broken in some ways but whole in others. Drinking tea imported from Japan, part of an illegal organization of bounty hunters and heroes long-since thought dead, dating or figuring out their romantic lives – and fathers.

Taking a sip of his tea, Hanzo hummed as he watched his sons and Genji’s daughter play amidst the flowers. 

“If someone were to tell me ten years ago that I would be sitting with my brother and enjoying a quiet day-off while our children played together, I would have… how did McCree put it… made them into a personal pincushion.”

Genji chuckled, the sound coming out clear and with a deep timbre, unlike the synthetic robotic noise that emanated from his helmet. Hanzo’s lips twitched upward and he hid it behind his cup. Ten years without his brother only to find that he’d been alive and well (relatively speaking), it was difficult to think they’d share this type of camaraderie again. He’d forgotten the way Genji’s eyes would light up with that mischievous gleam. Or the unspeakable trouble that would come from it.

Seeing it again, he was certain he wouldn’t be able to go without it or endure it being taken from him a second time.

“Do you believe in fate, brother?”

Hanzo wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “What do you mean?”

“Is it not odd that you are the father of two sons, a pair of brothers? You came here to seek redemption and a safe haven for your children. And for a time, you did not believe yourself capable of redemption. Perhaps fate did. It gave you a chance to rewrite our history. To be what our father could not be.”

Hanzo took a deep breath, looking up at his sons. Their backs were to him but for a moment he could see the outline of hisself and Genji when they were children. Holding hands, smiling at one another, laughing – just as brothers should. Then the image was gone and his sons were there, and Hanzo swallowed hard.

“I have missed you, little brother.”

He couldn’t look at Genji when he said it. Feeling the stinging behind his eyes, he clutched his cup tighter and exhaled shakily. Genji’s hand laid on his shoulder and squeezed, grounding Hanzo to reality.

This reality that they made for themselves. 

“I missed you too, big brother.”


	17. Sweet (Gency)

Angela sincerely wished for the old medical team after the duty of healing a ragtag group of criminals and bounty hunters fell to her, an omnic, a mechanic, and a DJ. More than once, she felt her eye twitching as another agent limped or was carried into the medbay with a wild story of how they obtained their injuries. At this point, she was considering clubbing someone on the head with her staff to dissuade them from getting hurt next time.

The herbal tea Zenyatta recommended to her and the soft bass playing throughout the medbay engineered by Lucio to soothe her was doing wonders for her frayed nerves. And she was steadily falling into a light sleep, exhaustion taking its old. She knew her neck would hurt in the morning from sleeping at this angle but she’d take any bit of rest she could get.

In the first stages of sleep, she barely noticed the medbay door opening or the figure that walked through. She stirred when she felt herself being lifted up and cracked open her eyes, smiling softly at the green lights glowing amidst the medbay’s dim lighting. The beds in the medbay weren’t comfortable but the blanket beneath her was.

It felt soft and fluffy, and when she peeked again, another was draped over her shoulders. A hand patted against her leg and she lifted it, allowing her shoes to be unlaced and pulled off her feet. The soft thump beside the bed telling her that both were set beside it.

Good, if she needed to get up in a hurry, she’d know where they were.

Soft padded fingers brushed against the shell of her ear, lacing in her hair and undoing her ponytail, the hairtie pressed into the palm of her hand. Lips pressed against her forehead, barely there but warm and soft. She leaned into the touch and mumbled sleepily as it pulled away from her. She snuggled beneath the blanket and smiled, peeking as the medbay door opened again.

“Good night, Genji.”

No response came for a moment and she tried not to laugh. Leave it to Genji to be shy at getting caught in the act.

“Good night, Angela.”

The door slid shut behind him and Angela giggled, burying her face in the blanket and smiling widely until she drifted off into sleep.

——-

“Father?” Tsubaki mumbled, turning over to glance at her father’s back as he tried to creep out of her room. The blanket tucked around her and the pillow beneath her head were fluffy and soft, unlike the ones issued by Overwatch. 

“Ah, hello Tsubaki,” Genji said, smiling nervously over his shoulder. “Did I wake you?”

She stared at her father and thought to tell him that she’d already been awake the moment he stepped in her room but decided against it. He was trying, and that’s all that mattered.

“No, but could you stay with me until I fall asleep?”

Angela lingered in the hall with her back pressed to the wall, one hand covering her mouth to hide her widening smile.

“Of course,” Genji said, and the door slid shut behind him.

Angela lowered her hand and sighed.

Father like daughter, both sweet in their own way.


	18. Perfect (Symmpharah)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Satya dishes out a compliment and gets a smile.

The soft hum of the hard light reconstruction of Watchpoint Gibraltar matched with the low music playing through Satya’s office. She worked quietly, moving different pieces to their desired locations, and stepping back to admire her work before fixing it again. As day slipped to afternoon then began to bleed into the evening, she stepped away from her work fully and gave it an appraising glance. Several structures were still an inch or so off their mark, and she could have sworn the ventilation system was built by trained engineers, not toddlers.

Her own daughter could do better than this train wreck. And then it struck her. Mariam! Slowly panic arose as Satya spun around, looking for the little girl only to find her sitting at her small desk. After Satya’s office was finished, Mariam asked very often and very sweetly complete with puppy dog eyes and pouty lips if she could have a space next to Satya’s.

It didn’t make sense. Satya didn’t talk much while working and preferred silence aside from music and the low hum of hard light. But Mariam was very accommodating and sometimes Satya forgot she was there at all.

A twinge of guilt arose. She was her mom afterall. And Vishkar surely wasn’t kind to Mariam, it took time before she was even okay with laughing out loud without flinching as if a scolding was imminent.

“What are you working on?” Satya asked, walking over and kneeling beside Mariam’s desk.

The sudden shift in attention made Mariam smile wide, and she wiggled her chair closer, pushing the little hardlight DIY kit Torbjörn had made for her.

“I don’t agree with this but who Am I to stop you from creating. Though I f you want to learn my way of engineering, you know where to find me,” Satya remembered him saying, his loud voice echoing, but Mariam’s smile was worth it.

Just like the one she wore now as she showed Satya her hardlight depiction of a smiling woman and child holding hands. “See mom? It’s me and you,” she smiled, pressing a button on the side and the two were waving their free hands. “..I know it’s a little weird.”

“It’s perfect.”

Mariam smiles so wide and Satya returned it with a smaller one of her own.

* * *

 

"Hey Satya," Fareeha called, peeking into her wife's office. "Have y-"

Satya wasn't there and neither was Mariam but a small hard-light construct of a woman and child waving sat beside one of another woman and a little boy. The latter looked far more professional than the former but they were both adorable. Fareeha smiled and shook her head, turning around and closing the door.


	19. Boop (Spiderbyte)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sombra has a way of showing affection and the kids decide to get in on it too.

Widowmaker laid her hands on the heads of the two children crowded around her legs as Sombra approached, turning away from Pharah with a roll of the eyes and a heavy sigh. It took a second but once her gaze landed on the trio, Sombra grinned and practically skipped over to the childrens’ delight. When she got close enough, she dipped low into a crouch and poked the little girl’s nose first.

“Boop!”

The girl giggled, covering her nose with both hands, looking up at Widowmaker who smiled slightly. Another boop followed as Sombra poked the other child’s nose then bounced to her feet. Full of energy and teetering back on her heels, Widowmaker almost reached out to grab her until Sombra grabbed hold of her windbreaker, pulling them together. Their lips met and Widowmaker’s eyes fluttered shut. It was chaste, barely lasting a second, but she could recall everything.

The softness, the way Sombra’s nails traced from her chin to the space behind her ear before her arms encircled her neck, their bodies pressing close like two pieces of a puzzle — and Widowmaker felt whole. When the kiss broke, her eyes cracked open to see Sombra staring at her with a half-lidded gaze. Unable to resist the urge to smile, Widowmaker knew what was coming when Sombra tapped their noses together.

“Boop.”

Stepping away, Sombra took the little girl’s hand and gave her a little twirl before lifting her up, beckoning the children to tell her about their day. Widowmaker followed close behind though she kept a bit of distance. Content to watch as Sombra listened avidly and nodded along to the stories they told, her eyes alight and laughter bright. And for the briefest moment in a lapse between one of the children’s stories, she stole a glance of her shoulder and smiled.

A soft saccharine sweet smile that made Widowmaker’s heart skip a beat.

She didn’t even know she could feel that anymore.

When all was said and done, and the children were in their pajamas and ready for bed, Sombra drearily recounted that she had to give her report to “their Overlords” and bid the kids to not go quietly into the goodnight without her. Which led Widowmaker sitting up with two children jammed into her side as she read a story to them aloud. It wasn’t a book for children necessarily but they didn’t seem to mind. She stroked her fingers through the girl’s hair and tucked the other child close to her side.

“Maman?”

Stopping in mid-sentence, she glanced down, wide hazel-brown eyes looking up at her.

“Yes?”

“Why does Mama do that ‘boop’ thingy?”

Widowmaker raised a brow, “She does it because it is her way of showing affection. Do you not like it?”

The little girl shook her head, smiling wide. “I do! It’s funny, and it makes Valentine go red.”

At that, Valentine shot upright and pouted at their sister. “Roxie!”

Widowmaker chuckled, pinching Valentine’s cheek. “Roxanna is right, mon petit chou. But red is a very charming color.”

Valentine huffed, folding their arms and puffing their cheeks. Though after a few seconds, they turned to Widowmaker and said, “So Mama does it because she loves us?”

Widowmaker nodded.

The children shared a look and seemed to come to an agreement, as to what, Widowmaker wasn’t sure but she was certain it would be interesting.

Sombra returned about a half hour later, and both children were almost completely asleep until she came through the door. Then as if lightning struck, they both jumped from the bed and Widowmaker looked up in alarm as they scrambled for Sombra, filling her arms as she laughed.

“You little rebels,” she teased, poking their noses with her own, smiling as they giggled. “Your maman almost had you asleep, but you thwarted her efforts at the last second didn’t you?”

Widowmaker rolled her eyes at the dramatics of it all and looked down at her book.

“Mama, mama!” Roxanna said, patting Sombra’s shoulder until she looked at her, then poking her nose. “Boop!”

The world slowed down and Widowmaker slowly looked up just in time to see Sombra’s eyes go wide.

“Mama!” Valentine called, and Sombra turned only to find another poke to the nose. “Boop!”

It wasn’t often that Widowmaker got to see Sombra caught off guard or shocked for that matter. But her eyes widened and she squeezed both kids to her chest, their heads resting on her shoulders as she hugged them tight. From over their shoulders, her eyes met Widowmaker’s.

Climbing off the bed, and marking her place in her book, Widowmaker set it aside and walked to the trio. Leaning down to press a kiss to Sombra’s nose, then pressing their foreheads together.

“Boop.”

“..I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to send prompts or ask me about my OC kids, feel free to message @familyiswhoyouchoose on Tumblr or drop an ask in the ask box for me to write a prompt here. See you later guys.
> 
> Like my work and would like to support me, [why not buy me a coffee](https://ko-fi.com/iyhuckleberry)?


End file.
